The Reachman: Prologue
by Bootstrap Bill
Summary: Follow Sean Finn, author, historian and greatest threat to the New Empire of the 4th Era as he uncovers a conspiracy that stems back to the years preceding the Oblivion Crisis and beyond. First book in a very original series set in pre and post Oblivion.
1. Chapter 1 Part 1

**The Reachman: Prologue, is your gateway to an epic adventure of heroism and humanity. Fifty years after the end of the Oblivion Crisis, war has ravaged the southern provinces and the threat of invasion looms in the north. The new Empire of the Fourth Era fights to keep hidden a terrible secret upon which peace in Tamriel relies. **

**Follow Sean Finn, author, historian and now the greatest threat to the Empire as he uncovers a conspiracy that stems back to the years preceding the Crisis and beyond. **

**Read, Critique, Enjoy.****  


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**1**

**01 Sun's Dusk 4E09, The Battle of Gold Road - 25 miles northeast of Skingrad**

**"**In the name of the Nine Divines I pray for my immortal soul and those of the men I now lead in battle. Safeguard and see us through to victory, but if we should fall may our spirits grace the plains of Aetherius and our sacrifice be worthy of remembrance. Amen."

The young Imperial captain patted down the milky white mane of his horse, gently combing it to one side. His steed whinnied with satisfaction. This caused a stir among the other horses lined up side by side beneath the crest of a hill overlooking the valley below. The horses were restless, their riders anxious. The ground was covered in a thin layer of frost that cushioned every step like soft sand. _Wintertide _was late coming this year to the thanks of many who knew the hardships of combat in thick blankets of snow. Frigid temperatures and crisp dry air made breathing painful. Steam from their warm bodies and exhaled breath hung overhead like a gathering storm cloud in the distance – a warning to their enemies and a sign of hope for their allies. Hidden somewhere behind the rolling hillside was the greatest assembly of military forces since Tiber Septim battled the Akavir at Pale Pass.

With great ferocity and unmatched determination did their enemy now march upon the lands of Cyrodiil. The _Army of Julianos _they called themselves - zealots, crusaders, fanatics, lowly criminals and mercenaries fighting alongside mages, cavalrymen and warriors of the finest Breton Houses. All of them converts on the "path of the _Ternion_" a term reserved for pilgrims loyal to the strict teachings of Julianos – patron divinity of literature, history, law and justice through the examination of contradictions. _Only the Divines with such omnipotent power can see the rationalization of such a contradiction as peace through war. If Julianos does indeed ride with the Breton armies, what hope is there for us? _Born within the Iliac city-state of Daenia, the Army of Julianos had assimilated the entire southern territories of High Rock in a matter of five years, from Urvaius to Dwynnen. Whatever sinister ideals or Divine blessing drove them to violence, the Legions of Cyrodiil would now bare the full brunt.

It was not typical of the Divines to involve themselves so heavily with the affairs of the mortal world, a characteristic associated with _Daedra_ and their mischievous and destructive acts. But within the walls of the Imperial City stood the towering stone dragon of Akatosh, proof of the Divines who in all their mercy and wisdom had delivered Cyrodiil and its people from complete destruction not ten years earlier. _What terrible deed have we done to deserve the wrath of such a formidable enemy? _He prayed. _Father Julianos? He who I have tried to dutifully serve all my life, how have I wronged you? Will you not spare me and the lives of my men? Will you not spare the lives of those we ride against? _

Pounding hoof beats signaled the approach of one of his scouts.

"Captain Berengeur! Word from General Hassildor! _Captain?_"

"Here Corporal." The Captain turned his horse and flagged down the approaching rider. "What news from the front?"

"General Hassildor has engaged the main army but they are not in the expected position!"

"How far off?"

"Four hundred meters to the south!"

_Out of range. _The row of heavy catapults lined up behind him would not be able to provide covering fire for his cavalry when they attacked.

"Sir, the front is holding for now but there are just too many! They'll break through if we don't –"

"That's enough Corporal." The Captain silenced.

Unfortunately he was right. Just seven hours prior, General Hassildor outlined the importance of opening up two fronts during the battle, engaging the enemy with foot soldiers and archers on the front lines supported by cavalry and artillery from the left flank. Although the cavalry was superior in skill and experience, it would not survive long without support from the seven artillery batteries positioned high above the battlefield. _If I only had a hundred more horsemen…_

"Sergeant!" Captain Berengeur called for the head of his artillery battery.

"Sir?"

"How long to pack up and move your company?"

"Where to?"

This time the Corporal answered. "Sir, given the location of the enemy we'll need to reposition at least three hundred meters forward along the same elevation."

"Where Corporal?"

"Over there!" He answered pointing to a high ridge to the southwest.

"That'll take us at least half an hour, maybe more."

"_The battle will be over by then Peter._" Captain Berengeur's second in command, Senior Leftenant Caleb Ozark, whispered. "_The General is relying on us_."

The young Captain did not answer.

"Sergeant, move your battery to the ridge and immediately engage any targets you find."

"Yes sir!"

The Sergeant began barking orders to his men who scurried about packing up ammunition and breaking down equipment. The cavalrymen exchanged glances of worry and confusion. Peter Berengeur tried to look like he knew what he was doing.

He called for his Corporal. "Ride to the other batteries and pass along the new enemy positions."

The Corporal saluted and took off at a brisk gallop to the west.

"Prepare the men to move out." The captain ordered. "Signal the regiment to assemble on my position – five men across, ten deep."

Caleb was a true son of Skyrim, warrior to the bone, but his eyes betrayed the fear stewing inside him. His contingent was less than four hundred horsemen strong. Peter knew that Caleb disagreed with the order, but he would never countermand a superior officer in front of his troops– even if that officer was a lifelong friend. Caleb nodded in respect. The Nord relayed his orders to the signalman who translated the message by flag to the remaining members of the cavalry regiment.

Groups of horsemen emerged from the woods overlooking the hills of County Skingrad, confused but obedient. The ground thundered with the sound of hundreds of horses bearing their heavily armed riders. Captain Berengeur watched the road from atop a nearby hill beneath the branches of a dead tree; the golden _Ankh - _standard of the Army of Julianos, came into view ahead of a column of ten thousand soldiers.

* * *

**Castle Kvatch, Thirty five years later**

_It must be here somewhere…_

He searched diligently, checking the charred bindings of every book and scroll sprawled across the ash-blackened floor. _Where are those damn books? _Residual heat trapped beneath piles of stone rubble made him sweat even as cool air penetrated in from the open air balcony. Darius Berengeur stood erect and arched his back. He was sore from having spent nearly three hours looking through the remains of the entire Kvatch City Library before deciding to search the personal office of long-deceased Count Ormellius Goldwine for a third time. When the pain in his lower back became too much to bear, he slowly trudged across the room and sat cross-legged on the floor eventually allowing himself to lie down. His eyes were heavy and soon he began to feel sleep overcome him.

"Still no luck?" A voice asked from the doorway.

Darius did not open his eyes.

"I might as well be looking for a needle in a stack of needles. 'Bout as painful too."

He never would have been so informal with anyone other than his father's most trusted military commander and uncle. Caleb Ozark wasn't really Darius' uncle but as a fellow soldier and mentor, Peter Berengeur always counted Caleb among family.

"Your father told me I might find you here, buried beneath whatever was left of this Library. He didn't exactly understand _why _though."

The elderly Nord sat himself down onto a desk that creaked as the weight of his heavily armoured body strained the damaged wood. He quickly jumped to his feet and instead chose to lean against a wall.

"I see you've been reading up on the 5th Legion and the Battle of Gold Road." Caleb thumbed through the pages of a book Darius had discarded, piled neatly atop a mountain of texts: _The Wrath of a Divine; Authored by Sean Finn. _"He was just a young Captain back then but damn was he ever the bright one. Saved the lives of so many people with his stunt –"

"Perhaps the greatest military upset in recent history thanks to the brave cavalry charge on the enemy's left flank!" Darius interrupted. "It never ceases to amaze me, even after hearing about it for the hundredth time."

Caleb gave Darius a disapproving look, much like a father would stare at a child reluctant to do his chores.

"Nephew, your father made the right decision appointing you head of the cavalry. You are a fine rider and I would be hard pressed to find anyone who could escape the accurate aim of your bow, _but you are not and never will be your father._ Your time will come soon enough and I have no doubt that history will judge you just as great a warrior as Peter."

The Nord outstretched his hands and offered to help the young man to his feet. Darius stood and embraced his uncle who towered several feet over him.

"It's only a few regiments." Darius downplayed. "Captain Sifridius is the real commander and rightfully so. He is a skilled officer like you Uncle, not to mention he brought an entire battalion of horsemen with him when he left the Legions. Speaking of which, how was your trip to Gideon?"

"Even in wintertide, Black Marsh – sorry – _Argonia _is a bit too warm for my liking."

"And the Legions? How are the men?"

Caleb let out a long controlled breath.

"It's bad Darius. So many have come from the Legions to join your father here in Kvatch that Emperor Balderic has had to abandon many of the further outposts including almost all of Argonia. Morale is low, desertions are high and punishments are severe. Most of the Legion soldiers from Argonia have been reorganized to defend Bravil from the Elsweyr Confederacy. Those _Khajiit _have truly carved themselves a big piece of the pie since the _Wars _began."


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2

Darius could hardly believe five years had passed since the start of the Blackwood Wars. He was still a Lieutenant assigned to peace-keeping operations in Vvardenfell. Dunmer agents fleeing from the Imperial invasion of their country fifteen years earlier fled south into Black Marsh and began training Argonian guerillas to attack villages and cities in southeastern Cyrodiil in hopes of drawing the Legions away from Morrowind. The Dunmer and their Argonian proxies met with such resounding success that by 4E42, two years into the conflict, the armies of Argonia laid siege to Leyawiin, the southernmost city in Cyrodiil.

By no coincidence the insurgency in Vvardenfell escalated greatly that same month. The Empire, resolute to maintain its foothold in Morrowind, could not allocate troops to defend Leyawiin. Facing imminent destruction at the hands of the Argonian Empire, Leyawiin was saved by the _Elsweyr Confederacy_, which sent thousands of fierce Khajiit warriors into Cyrodiil and pushed back the Argonians across the Niben. In an act of gratitude to their liberators and a demonstration of defiance to the Empire that abandoned them, the citizens of Leyawiin peacefully removed the Imperial government and accepted annexation into the Confederacy. The date was 08 Hearthfire 4E42.

Determined to counter the growing threat from the southern provinces, Imperial High Chancellor Sergius Balderic organized a massive invasion force, nearly emptying the Imperial coffers and conscripting thousands into military service. Legion troops marched into Elsweyr from Bravil, brushing aside border patrols and overrunning several outposts. On the 24th of Sun's Dusk, the Imperial advance was halted outside the city of Rimmen when a combined force of Bosmer and Khajiit ambushed the foreign Legionnaires. Thousands of soldiers were killed or captured and sold into slavery. The Empire abandoned its plans of liberation in the south and was content with building up a series of defenses around Bravil. Meanwhile the war between Khajiit and Argonian continued.

The Island of Kuril, located in the mouth of Niben Bay, had remained largely uninhabited until it was colonized by refugees fleeing from the Daedra during the Oblivion Crisis. Because of its equidistant location between Argonia and Elsweyr, most colonies were established by Khajiit and Argonians who lived in relative harmony. During the early peaceful years of Chancellor Balderic's rule, the Kuril colonies were placed under temporary Imperial jurisdiction. Once the Blackwood Wars broke out, the race was on to expand territories; Elsweyr gained ownership of Leyawiin and the surrounding lands west of the Niben, and Argonia held onto all of Blackwood south of the Panther River and east of the Niben. With the exception of the secession of Orsinium almost ten years earlier, these were the largest land gains made by any Imperial province. In 4E44 during a year-long ceasefire agreement, the Elsweyr Confederacy claimed official ownership of Kuril and the thriving colonies that lay within. This angered the Kingdom of Argonia who argued for equal ownership rights citing the best interests of the large Argonian population. The debate continued for many months until the Argonians broke the ceasefire and seized Kuril by force. The War of Kuril Hill raged on, the Legions watching from behind the safety of Bravil's walls as their numbers thinned out from desertion.

"We managed to bring back with us about fifty men and a few volunteers including some healers." Caleb continued.

"I bet the Legions will need those healers in the coming months." Darius frowned.

"The sooner we gather enough men, the sooner we can march on the Imperial City and end the tyranny of this _pretender _Balderic. Of course if the Khajiit or Nords decide to invade Cyrodiil before then, we might be in a tough situation."

"Which is why I need to find these schematics!" Darius exclaimed, turning his attention back to the pile of books. "I've rested too long as is."

"Your father says you've been running back and forth between libraries for three days now. What are you looking for exactly?"

"Leftenant Racilius." Darius answered with a heavy sigh. "He is here somewhere, _I know it._"

"Who is he?"

"A Legion soldier I would imagine judging by his rank. I heard father discussing with his commanders that there is a shortage of material to make weapons and armour. Many of the deserters that come to us bring a few weapons and maybe some chainmail pieces, but if we are going to win this battle we must have _heavy troops_ and cavalry to match."

"Yes, as our numbers grow our resources diminish."

"Then I remembered a letter I had found while exploring the Chapel Undercroft some time ago. It was a biography outlining the achievements of LT Racilius – a member of the city guard and later in life a prospector for iron ore and gold deposits."

"Here, in Kvatch?"

"_Beneath it!_ Racilius is said to have discovered the location of an iron ore mine that stretched down for hundreds of meters into the heart of this plateau. He estimated the construction dated back to the First Era but the entrance to these mines was lost when the _Camoran Usurper_ destroyed the city in 3E249."

"That was two hundred years ago, what makes you think there is still anything left?"

"Just three days ago I found another letter, a _Request for Authorization _from LT Racilius addressed to Count Ormellius Goldwine in the office of his personal assistant. The request asked for permission to open excavation sites within the city walls. Attached to the letter were several historical documents proving that at the time the location of this mine was lost, less than ¼ of the total amount of iron ore and mineral deposits had been exploited."

"If you find those mines Darius, our masons will have more than enough material to forge steel! Well done boy, well done!"

"Don't celebrate yet Uncle, I still haven't found where the entrance is. After 4E431, I can't find any record of Racilius living in Kvatch. If he left the city, he could have taken with him any evidence that would lead us to the mines."

There was a long pause as both Caleb and Darius pondered over what to do next.

"_Racilius._" The Nord repeated the name with a confused inflection. "That's not a common name you hear. Where is he from?"

"Cyrodiil I think. Take a look at his biography."

Darius handed the parchment to his uncle. The corners had been scorched by fire but the document was still in relatively good condition. The Nord smiled and let out a hearty laugh.

"This is not a _biography! _It is an _obituary._"

"What? Let me see!"

"Look." Darius stood and peered over his uncle's shoulder. "LT doesn't stand for Leftenant and his name is not Racilius. It's _Acilius_, a very common Cyrodilic name. LTR is an abbreviation."

"Abbreviation? For what?"

"Laid To Rest."

* * *

The air was stale and musty and the sound of his hurried steps echoed along the stone floor of the undercroft. The halls were illuminated by mounted torches spaced every six to eight feet making for poor visibility. Embroidered tapestries depicting scenes in Tamrielic history covered the old stone walls. Darius looked to these as landmarks that would guide him through the labyrinth of alcoves and narrow passageways beneath the Chapel of Akatosh. _Left at the Tomb of Baurus the Architect_, he navigated, _and twenty and one paces to the First Battle of the Imperial City. _Darius used the dim light of a nearby torch to memorize his next set of directions. _Go past the entrance to the Hall of Mages and make a right by Black Wolf City Tapestry. _

A small order of monks from the Order of Akatosh took it upon themselves to be the stewards of these Catacombs; a burial ground for the city's greatest heroes _"Whose service to the great Kingdom of Kvatch is unparalleled in importance, valour, selflessness and bravery". _Men and Mer of science, literature and technology who had advanced Kvatch to incredible heights and new ways of thinking were laid to rest alongside the greatest war heroes and military tacticians. A majority of the tombs predated the establishment of the Empire, when Kvatch existed as a sovereign state during the First Era. The monks treated the chambers with great respect, constantly scrubbing the floors or dusting the tombs of cobwebs. No monk ever spoke when in the Catacombs, making for an eerie unnatural silence.

Far past the hallowed crypts of Kvatch's heroes was the City Burial Chamber, where citizens who could afford the cost of interment were placed in stone sarcophagi beneath their city. Darius was able to find that in accordance with his last wishes the man named Acilius was buried in these Chambers. With a great amount of luck, Acilius would be buried with some clues that would lead him to the entrance of the iron ore mines.

Darius lit himself a torch and pressed his shoulder against the heavy stone door that served as the entrance to a stairway leading down into the City Burial Chambers. Cautiously he descended the slippery steps, a cloak of pitch black enveloping him. Unlike the Catacombs, there were no wall-mounted torches to provide illumination. His torch was the only source of light. He strained to keep his eyes open. Holding the torch far out ahead of him did little to improve his visibility. This caused him to become unbalanced and he slipped and fell on his rear. The torch tumbled out of his hand and extinguished as it fell to the bottom of the stairs. Now Darius was on hands and feet walking like a crab, thankful no one was around to see him so vulnerable.

When his feet finally detected the bottom of the stairs he was able to breathe a sigh of relief. He stood, using the wall for assistance and felt around for his torch on the floor, finding it a few moments later. Darius was about to make the seemingly impossible climb back up the stairs when his eye caught a faint glow of light ahead. It wasn't bright enough for him to guide by, but it would serve to relight his torch. He continued on taking small steps trying his best not to stumble over the uneven stone walkway until he reached the light's source; a lantern hanging above a sarcophagus. Standing watch over the tomb was the statue of a Breton or perhaps a Cyrod man, five to six feet tall with long hair that flowed down past his ears. It assumed no heroic stance like the one of _Antus Pinder_ in the courtyard above. His hands clasped a sword by the hilt with the blade pointed downwards. His face was expressionless; his eyes opened gazing straight ahead. On his chest he bore the seal of Kvatch - the Black Wolf.

"I know who you are…" Darius whispered. "…but what are you doing down here?"


	3. Chapter 2 Part 1

**2**

**15 First Seed, 46th year of the 4th Era (4E46)**

"Look there Mister Finn." The wagon driver pointed. "One of the great achievements of our new Emperor, the _Enman-Ebel Canal_. Named for two of Uriel Septim's sons, _gods rest his soul_. It's said that Princes Enman and Ebel were killed in the very woods the canal runs through today. Or at least it will run through when it's finished."

Sean Finn shielded his eyes from the bright sun and gazed upon the unfinished canal. Large piles of dirt were being hauled away in horse-drawn carts and Orc lumberjacks chopped away at fallen trees. Most Bosmer refused to cut down trees or any vegetation and thus were used as the "diggers", chipping away the loose soil. The tiny _W__ood elves_ used farming tools broken in half at their handles, to accommodate their unique size. The Orcs and Nords stayed far ahead of the diggers, usually two to three miles, and with their brute strength cut a path through the trees or anything else that would obstruct the flow of the canal. The wood they chopped was then carried back by Khajiit and Dunmer to the deeply dug canal path to be used as support for the dirt walls. Presently, the canal was fourty-three miles long, 300 feet across and 40 feet down, or in practical terms wide enough for two lanes of traffic and deep enough to allow the draft of a fully loaded Imperial Legion transport vessel.

By the time the Canal fed into Lake Rumare an additional fifteen miles would be added and the work wouldn't end there. He speculated that seven months of dam building were needed to regulate the flow of water throughout the length of the canal. These dams, built of dirt, clay and timber, would allow the workers to keep up with the flow of water as it poured through the dried up canal. This ensured there would be no flooding or unintentional damage done to the surrounding Nibenay Valley. Eventually, when the workers had carefully filled each section of the canal, there would be a ceremony as the last dam was destroyed and the waters of the Abecean Sea and Lake Rumare met for the first time. Music would play, the Emperor would give a speech and the slaves that had managed to survive the backbreaking labour and unending work days would put on fake smiles as they watched their wine-drinking, ass scratching bosses take credit for their hard work. It was unlikely many of them would live much longer after that. The workers were indentured to a life of servitude, captured as prisoners of war or arrested on ludicrous charges for criminal acts and sent to one of the many labour camps around the Empire courteous of the Office of Faith and Good Conduct. The locations, let alone the _existence _of these camps were secrets the Imperial government held close. Those who found themselves _guests _included scholars, academics, anyone that would speak, write or teach anything not in line with the laws and morals outlined by the Office. Many of his colleagues had gone missing or were publicly executed as dissident free thinkers and traitors.

It was the reason he chose to remain in Summerset Isle, core of the southern provinces and bastion of independence from the tyranny of the self proclaimed Emperor Sergius Balderic. Comfortably immersed in the culture of _High Elves_, he returned to mainland Tamriel only when his research led him there. In five years Sean Finn had made a name for himself as a leading author and historian on Septim Era history including the Oblivion Crisis and the _Adamantine Rebellion_ also known as the _War of Julianos_. His scholarly works were copied and published in great numbers across Tamriel and just as many arrest warrants issued against his name. With open warfare imminent and the Empire increasing the level of violence in recent months, Sean knew that his return to Cyrodiil would be his most dangerous yet. The young author reached into his pack and retrieved the letter delivered to his home in _Firsthold_ nine days prior.

_Sean _

_Greetings my friend! These are dark times and I regret not having the chance to spend time with you. I hope all is well with you and your family. I pray that the release of your third book comes swiftly, but if you are interested in taking a break from your current endeavour I have a unique opportunity for you. You are one of the few people I entrust my life to and it is with you alone I share this great and terrible secret. _

_Recently, I stumbled across a sarcophagus deep within the Catacombs of Kvatch. Emblazoned on the lid of this crypt was the seal of the Order of the Dragon and built above was the statue of a man bearing the mark of the Black Wolf upon his breast. Contrary to all I have seen and heard, I am convinced that it is the tomb of Ulysses, Hero of Kvatch and Champion of Cyrodiil. _

_With the greatest care did I investigate inside the sarcophagus, surprised to discover the unique ice-blue coloured sword and the worn out white tunic of a Kvatch guardsman. I know what you must be thinking, how could the Champion of the Oblivion Crisis be dead and buried when hundreds of men and women flock to the weekly sermons he delivers in the Imperial City? I have even witnessed this with my own eye, shook his hand and spoke to him not one month ago and yet there I stood over the decayed bones of that same man! _

_I suspect that there is foul play at work and Balderic is behind it. Given your vested interest in the subject, I have chosen to confide in you alone. Not even my father is aware of this confusing situation. If Balderic has been fooling the citizens of our country with a pretender, exposing him may garner more support for our cause. I ask that if you choose to return to Tamriel, do so with caution and care. I fear the actions of my father and his men six months ago have caused great unrest and the situation in Skyrim and Elsweyr worsens every day. If you are able to make it pass the blockades, I urge you to visit Kvatch and share with me anything you discover. I hope to see very soon. Give my best to your wife and children. _

_Your friend, _

_Darius Berengeur _

Sean and Darius had been companions since their time together in the Imperial Legion Camps, training to become Legionnaires. Each one had entrusted their life to the other so Sean was hard pressed to find a reason why Darius would invent such a fantastic story. _He would never send me on a fool's errand_. _It's at least worth looking into, if not to satisfy the curiosities of a good friend_.

The carriage made a turn along the road and soon the canal workers were out of sight. Sean pulled his wide brimmed hat down over his eyes and tried to get some rest.

* * *

"Good people of the Imperial City! Faithful citizens of the Empire! Travel to the Temple of the One! Look upon our _Divine _gift, a testament to the supremacy of our gods! The Dragon! Powerful, awe inspiring, unrivaled! Like our Empire the statue of the Divine avatar of Akatosh represents the struggle against great evil that exists in our world. I am Ulysses Dragonheart, Champion of Cyrodiil, and Hero of Kvatch! I fight for all that is good in the name of our _Emperor, _Sergius the Great! Sergius the Righteous, Defender of Tamriel!"

Sean's stomach twisted in disgust. With great effort the young author forced himself to accept what he was hearing without offering so much as a word of disagreement. Carefully he scrutinized the man's physical features. Shoulder length brown- blonde hair streaked gray with age, stout chin, deep brown eyes and a slightly upturned nose. _Just like I remember you. _The young author had interviewed the Hero of Kvatch for his first book, _The Night of Tears: Kvatch 3E433_ but that was only four years ago.

* * *

**03 Morning Star 4E42, Cloud Ruler Temple**

"You came all this way to look at our _library?_"

"Yes that's right."

"Why in Oblivion would you want to do that?"

"Umm… I'm an author. I'm doing research for a book on the Oblivion Crisis and my research indicates-"

"That we _screwed_ up?" Most of the Blade sentry's face was covered by his helmet, but Sean could tell he was angry.

"No! Of course not! I'm more focused on what happened _after_ Emperor Septim was killed."

"Assassinated." The Blade corrected.

"I'm sorry?"

"Soldiers are killed. Legionnaires are killed. _Emperors are assassinated_."

Sean let out a long breath through his nose and examined the snowy ground.

"Is there any way I can speak to your commanding officer?"

"Grandmaster Rogers is a busy man and he leaves it to me to ensure only the most important people come in. Are you important? I don't think so _author_." The Blade asked rhetorically.

"_Grandmaster Rogers wants to see him! Let him up!_" Another Blade called down from high above on the Temple wall.

The sentry motioned with a grunt for Sean to enter. As he ascended the stone steps, the pointed roof of Cloud Ruler Temple immediately came into view. Against the background of a clear blue morning sky it was truly a gem of millennia old Akaviri architecture. Multi-tiered triangular sloping roofs built of _hemlock _wood were tiled with porcelain plates and supported by columns of white stone. Bright green moss grew in between cracks of the beige stone courtyard and large open-pit fires burned incense of pine. Blade sentries patrolled along the perimeter, exchanging cordial greetings and gossip as they passed. The strong wooden doors of the central hall creaked with age as warriors in blue and gold armour passed through. A few meters to his right, two heavily armored Blades dueled in the confines of a training square padded with soft green grass.

Slowly the two men paced around each other, swords crossed, each vying for the opportunity to strike. One Blade nudged his sword closer to his opponent's torso causing the man to recoil backwards. _Relax your shoulders, sink in your knees. _Standard Legionnaire training in the Camps did not teach combat with a _katana, _the long slender blade of choice for the Emperor's personal bodyguard. Sean could thank the High Elves of the Summerset Isles for his education in the use of this elegant weapon.

"Keep your guard up _Ulysses_! Now! _Attack!_" One of the Blades commanded in between strikes. "Well done, go ahead and take a break."

The young author's heart skipped a beat. Ulysses was popular name and were he not standing in the courtyard of Cloud Ruler Temple he may have dismissed it as mere coincidence. _After all, the Champion of Cyrodiil has been missing since the Crisis ended. Divines Above, what if it is him? _Timidly he moved closer towards the Blade, his hand extended nervously outwards.

"Oy, whatchu don doin' bag daer!" The Breton spun around and faced the author, half unsheathing his blade from its scabbard.

"Umm…I'm sorry?"

"I don' say _what it is you doin' back there?_" The Breton repeated carefully annunciating his words.

"I… uh…are you _the _Ulysses?"

"The only Ulysses I know. Sorry 'bout that, me accent tends to flare up when I get surprised. Just who might you be?"

"I'm Sean the Author….I mean, my name is Sean and _I am _an author."

"Easy there mate, take your time. Breathe a little, eh?"

"Yes, thank you. It's just a great honour to meet the Hero of Kvatch. What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to be here, been for quite some time. Right at this moment though, I was going to get lunch."

"I didn't mean to be so forward, it's just that no one has seen you since… the Crisis ended."

"Aye. The Blades took me into their Order. Truly, I wished I could've been there to stand against those _Julianos whackos _at Gold Road. Grandmaster tends to keep his nose out of Imperial affairs since Martin passed."

Sean and Ulysses remained quiet for a few moments. Ulysses removed his left gauntlet and pulled down his blue tunic collar revealing a fresh gash that ran across his throat, still red with dried blood and healed skin. Before Sean could inquire about the origin of the wound his focus turned to another Blade slowly approaching him, dressed in ornate blue and gold armour but not wearing a helmet. He was a Breton of average age and build but the marks of countless battles weighed heavily upon his brow. His hair was messily unkempt and his shoulders tense, even visibly so underneath his heavy armour cuirass.

"I am Grandmaster Damian Rogers, please follow me."

Ulysses and Sean ended their conversation without a word. Grandmaster Rogers motioned the young author to walk ahead of him – a sign that this Blade was experienced in personal protection. Sean obeyed and entered the main hall of the Blades. The interior was made completely of wood and the rafters were carved in triangular shapes similar to the exterior. The ceiling was very high and the walls were covered with blue and gold tapestries decorated with depictions of Dragons, representative of the Divine Akatosh and symbol of the Septim Empire. What was most unique were a number of swords, Sean estimated about fifty, hanging from the rafters. These swords were the same as the ornate weapons every Blade wore on their hip or back.

"This is where we remember our fallen Brothers and Sisters." Rogers noticed Sean's interest in the hanging swords. "If one of us should fall in the course of our duties, we honour them here. Every _katana_ you see once belonged to an actual Blade. No replicas."

Sean didn't know what to say, so he remained quiet and followed the Breton across the room. Two chairs were placed next to a large roaring fireplace and Rogers motioned for Sean to take a seat. Before the author could introduce himself, Grandmaster Rogers took control of the conversation.

"Why are you here?" He asked.

"Research." Sean answered quickly.

"What kind of research?" The tone of Rogers' voice was blunt and uninterested.

"My name is Sean Finn, I'm writing a book about the Oblivion Crisis."

"And you've come here to meet those who are responsible for it? Responsible for the death of our Emperor?"

"If I'm not mistaken, the _Mythic Dawn_ killed your Emperor, not the Blades."

Sean could tell Rogers appreciated this remark.

"You'll have to forgive my sentries. You must understand these are…unique times for us."

"How so?" Sean was intrigued.

"Not many people understand that being the Emperor, _being a Septim_, was much more than just a namesake and title. The blood of a Septim was special, divinely blessed. There were those who thought this was a way of hoarding power to the Septim line. That changed the day the Crisis ended." Rogers dictated this story to Sean as a parent would tell a bedtime story to their child.

"In the Temple of the One, Martin Septim revealed himself a true son of the Dragon-born when he unleashed the holy avatar of Akatosh upon Mehrunes Dagon. He sacrificed himself so that we may all live. Unfortunately it has left us with no Emperor to serve."

"We have an Imperial government now. The Council needs your help getting the Empire back on its feet." Sean wasn't sure if making such a bold request was smart.

"That _imposter _Balderic is _not _my Emperor! Nor was hispredecessor _Ocato! _They are not_ Dragon-born! _Only those who are Divinely blessed may occupy the Throne of Tamriel."

"There are _no more_ Dragon-born!" This time Sean _knew_ he was making a mistake by challenging the Grandmaster of the Blades to a war of words. "The Imperial Council holds all the power and the people of Tamriel vote for our Councilmen."

"You know _nothing_ of the lies our _Council _uses to deceive the masses. The Blades are not just bodyguards. We are the ears of the Empire, the outstretched finger on the pulse of the people's will. We know how our Emperor ruled, what he possessed, what he was capable of."

"And the Council doesn't have what it takes?"

"_No one _has the right to proclaim themselves Emperor." Rogers spoke coldly.

"If you weren't hiding behind your high walls you would know that _no one _has."

"Yet. One will come, you'll see. I have faith that Divines will deliver unto us one who is worthy of our loyalty. A true _dragon-born._" Rogers insisted, sounding more like a crazed priest than a warrior.

"And who will run the Empire until this _saviour_ is delivered to you?"

Sean and Rogers quieted down for a few moments. Finally the Breton broke his silence.

"Did you come here to argue, is that it? Did you come just to antagonize us?" Rogers asked.

"I told you I'm an author looking for information on the Crisis. I'm here for access to the Library of the Blades. May I please see those books?"


	4. Chapter 2 Part 2

Somehow the Hero of Kvatch appeared more _vivacious_ than he remembered. After first meeting him at Cloud Ruler Temple, Grandmaster Rogers allowed Sean more opportunities to visit and conduct interviews. Ulysses was a calm individual, polite and charming but also reserved in his own affairs. Never did he express a desire to remain in the public eye, let alone use it to support the politics of the Imperial government.

Sean moved his way through the crowd assembled outside the Imperial Palace - White Gold Tower. He estimated there were one hundred people gathered, all Cyrods, Redguards or Bretons. Elves and Beastfolk were not permitted in the Imperial City, even those who had been born in Cyrodiil. The Office of Faith and Good Conduct was responsible for the enforcement of these strict rules and did so through the _Enforcers of the Devout - _fanatic loyalists sworn to a lifetime of service to the Empire. Their primary charge was internal security specifically for the Imperial City, law enforcement and religious enforcement. Enforcers patrolled the streets making sure the Chapel pews were never empty and moral standards were adhered to. Where the Legions could not keep the peace with force of arms, the Enforcers maintained order through fear of violence and intimidation. The Office established Chapter Houses across all of Tamriel bestowed with the power to arrest suspected _heretics_ and carry out punishment without adhering to the traditional judiciary process. The preferred method was execution by beheading.

Scattered throughout the crowd were the Enforcers, easily identified by their white skull caps and flowing red robes stitched with the symbol of the Office on their chest – the Red Diamond with a sword pointed upright in the center. Slowly they paced around the perimeter of the crowd looking for any signs of dissention. Those deemed to be a threat would be swiftly hauled away by hired thugs.

"Brothers and sisters here me and know what I speak is the truth! Our enemies stand at the doorstep! Who among you will answer the call as I did?"

"Here here!" A voice called from the crowd.

"Long live the Empire!" A female voice seconded.

"You cannot be Ulysses Dragonheart!"Sean challenged.

_What do you think you are doing? Don't bring attention to yourself for goodness sake! _Immediately the crowd grew quiet, not even Ulysses himself able to conjure a reply. The piercing stares of the Enforcers fixated upon the young author.

"You _cannot _be Ulysses Dragonheart, mortal champion of the Divines." Sean repeated.

The three hulking torsos of Enforcer thugs moved swiftly through the crowd towards him.

"How could you be when such a hero beckons for aid and only two people have the courage to reply? This man brought himself up from poverty in the far reaches of High Rock, who stood on this hallowed ground side by side with our Emperor Martin Septim as his companion and friend, now calls for aid in the name of our great Emperor Sergius Balderic! Only _two of you _have the courage to answer his call? For shame!"

An Enforcer standing outside the perimeter of the crowd motioned for the thugs to hold their advance.

"Yes! Why thank you good sir." Ulysses finally spoke. "The Empire is blessed to have such a _faithful _and _excited _volunteer."

"Milord, I am proud to call myself a veteran of his majesty's Imperial Navy, but sadly my health has waned of late and I am no longer fit for service in the military." Sean lied. "Thankfully we are graced with the presence of so many able-bodied men and women that finding candidates for service will not be a problem."

"Indeed! Please see one of our representatives from the Office of the Imperial Legions and they will begin drafting your conscription notices." Ulysses spoke to the crowd.

"Thank you for honoring me milord. I am truly fortunate to have stood in your presence." Sean firmly shook the Breton's hand taking a few moments to inconspicuously examine his neck – smooth and devoid of any scars.

It was growing late in the day. Most likely the citizens of the Imperial City were returning home from watching Arena combatants eviscerate themselves or headed to one of the many restaurants around town for evening meal. Sean chose not to linger further and quietly slipped inside the Palace, unchallenged by the Imperial Guards.

* * *

"I'm sorry but civilians are no longer permitted access to the Tower past the second level without permission from the Office of Faith and Good Conduct." An elderly Cyrod woman in red silk robes greeted.

Restricting access to White Gold Tower, a place of homage for travelers from across the Empire, was a sign that Balderic's paranoia was growing worse. Sean estimated that the number of severed heads fixed atop pikes could encircle the perimeter of the City several times over. It seemed that only the self-proclaimed Emperor could not see the real threat to his empire was brewing in the mountains of Skyrim but no doubt the mass desertion of ten thousand Legionnaires consumed all of Balderic's attention.

The trouble began four years earlier with the defeat of the Legions at Rimmen in Elsweyr. Low on men and material, it took three years for Balderic to recover and raise an army capable of rivaling the Khajiit. Though the armies of Elsweyr could've easily overrun the garrison at Bravil and completed their conquest of southern Cyrodiil, the Khajiit never made so much as a border crossing. Sean remembered the 23rd of Midyear, enjoying a relaxed summer day with his wife and daughter in Firsthold's City Plaza when the announcement was made that Sergius Balderic declared open war on Summerset Isle and Valenwood. The southern invasion force would march from their encampment outside the Imperial City to Anvil where a massive fleet of transport ships awaited. The troops would never arrive.

The Imperial Council, weary of Balderic's disastrous war and disapproving of the brutal tactics used by the Office, attempted to democratically replace him. On the 11th of Hearthfire 4E45, Balderic proclaimed himself Emperor, dissolved the Council and had the Enforcers execute them as traitors. Under the command of Peter Berengeur, the Legion invasion force bound for Summerset Isles instead seized the city of Kvatch and proclaimed themselves the Knights of the Black Wolf. The Knights vowed to overthrow Balderic and restore the Council. On the 1st of Frostfall 4E45, Bruma and Anvil seceded from the Empire as a vassal state under the protection of the Knights of Kvatch. Through a number of contacts he had developed over the years, Sean was able to monitor troop movements on all sides of the border. Balderic pulled thousands of soldiers from the Legion's northernmost fortress in Blacklight, Morrowind and reorganized them to defend Skingrad and the West Weald from the Knights. Darius' request for the young author's help was another sign that the situation was growing desperate on _both _sides.

"I have some research to do in the Hall of Heroes. I shouldn't be more than a few hours."

The Hall of Heroes was located in the lower levels of the White Gold Tower, formerly a storage area for some of Tamriel's more unique treasures, was now one of the few remaining libraries Balderic's Enforcers had not burned or destroyed. The Hall's library was relatively small in comparison to others he visited, but contained some of the oldest texts known to still exist. Accessing such a restricted collection was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

"Sir the Hall is not open –"

Two heavily armoured Legionnaires held the Palace door open as Ulysses entered followed by a procession of Enforcers. The elderly woman and Sean both bowed as was customary.

"Ah, here you are! Thank you for your efforts good sir. May I have your name?" Ulysses paused and spoke to Sean.

"Claudius Patrotus milord." The young author lied.

"Have we had the good pleasure of meeting before?"

"_No milord_, I don't travel to the Imperial City often." Sean answered still bowing in reverence.

"I am glad the Empire has patriots to fight on its behalf…even in these _dark times_. What business brings you to the Palace of our most glorious Emperor?"

"Mister Patrotus has requested _access_ to the Hall of Heroes." The woman answered like a sister tattle-telling on a younger brother.

"Then please attend to this gentleman's needs and make sure his visit is not an unpleasant one."


	5. Chapter 3

**3**

After thirteen hours of non-stop research, Sean's body could no longer keep pace with his ambition. The young author reclined back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. The _snapping _sounds drew the attention of several agitated scholars. Sean felt no love for these so called _academics_ – apprentices belonging to the _Order of the Steed_, Balderic's equivalent to the Septim-era _Order of the Dragon_. These _intellectuals _skirted death, valuing their own lives more than the principles of truth and discipline. For that, the young author held these traitors in regard just above Enforcers. Too many of Sean's colleagues chose to die as martyrs rather than swear fealty to a madman. Were it not upon the insistence of his long-time mentor and teacher to flee Cyrodiil, Sean would've gladly died with them.

"Excuse me sir, are you _Sean Finn_?" A feminine voice whispered.

Sean turned to see a Redguard standing beside him with a large stack of papers held in both her hands, a nervous half smile on her face.

"No, you must have me mistaken for someone else, I am Claudius Patrotus."

"I am so sorry! It's just…well you look like someone I know, _I mean knew! _I heard him speak – Oh dear how terribly rude of me not to introduce myself! My name is _Galilahi_ but my friends just call me _Lila_."

Lila extended her hand and the stack of parchments fell messily onto the floor. Sean stood and helped collect her items.

"I'm so sorry, please - "

"No it's okay so long as Professor Couche doesn't catch me being so clumsy."

"_The _Professor Couche? From the University in Cheydinhal?"

"Yes sir. That's him right over there."

Sean lifted his gaze to see an elderly man hunched over asleep at a podium on the far side of the library. The young author recalled visiting with the respected professor during his first visit to Tamriel from the Isles. He remembered a man of great dedication and knowledge.

"_What treachery is this? Barnaby Couche would never swear loyalty to..to.._"

"I knew it!" Lila exclaimed, quickly quieting herself. "_You are Sean Finn!_ I heard you speak at the University!"

Sean knew that letting his emotions overcome him was a poor decision. Sean moved with great haste to pack up and leave before the young Redguard woman squealed to the Enforcers.

"No! No! You don't understand!" Lila called after him. "Barnaby Couche has done no such thing. He promised to work for Balderic if the Enforcers didn't hurt us. His motives are pure I assure you."

"Us?"

"Professor Couche's apprentices." She answered. "There's me, Teresa, Sonia, and Andronicus. Professor Couche brought us with him to make sure we are safe."

"You all must've demonstrated great skill for the professor to keep you under his guard."

"Thank you. That means a lot coming from a respected author and historian like you. I owe the Professor my life, we all do. I trust his judgment and right now he says we are safe here as apprentices in the Order."

Sean and Lila moved out of eyesight behind a large bookshelf. Two Enforcers patrolled the Library keeping a vigilant eye on all research.

"So…um…are you here researching a new book? I've read all your works, _The Night of Tears_ is my favorite of all time! I keep it here hidden in the library where no one can find it." The Redguard smiled.

"No not a book. I'm trying to find information on someone."

"It must be an important 'someone' for you to come to the Imperial City. Oh the terrible things the Enforcers would do to you if they knew you were here."

"Thanks for letting me know." Sean was sarcastic.

"May I ask who it is you are trying to find?"

"He's…well to tell you the truth I'm not quite sure. I knew him once, well I _thought _I knew him and then someone told me he was dead…"

Sean stopped himself, realizing his explanation made no sense. Lila stood listening intently but clearly confused. The young author was still weary that the young Redguard woman could be a spy for the Enforcers. He chose his words carefully so not to reveal the details of his investigation.

"The man I seek out is a great hero and if I were to find out the truth about him it would be very helpful in our struggle against Balderic."

Lila's eyes grew wide with excitement.

"By _Julianos! _You're looking for _him_ aren't you? Is he real? He _must be_ if you've heard of him!"

"What are you talking about? Heard of whom?"

"Andronicus is much better at telling the story than I am. Come with me he'll want to hear what you've found out!"

Lila took the author's hand and without a word of explanation led him scurrying through the rows of bookshelves to a dimly lit section of the Hall. A young Breton was curled up in the corner trying to use his long silk robes to keep himself warm. Lila was not gentle in waking him.

"Andronicus! Wake up Andronicus!"

The Breton shooed the Redguard away. Lila kicked him in his rear and he immediately jumped to his feet.

"I'm sorry _Professor, _I was just resting my eyes!" Andronicus exclaimed still dazed from his rude awakening. "Wait, you're not…"

"This is _Sean Finn_, the author." Lila introduced.

Andronicus yawned and wiped his eyes, not as impressed as Lila had been to meet the famous writer.

"A pleasure." The Breton finally greeted with a limp outstretched hand. "You must forgive my impertinence but I've had nary an hour to sleep these past few days. Professor Couche has us working day and night you know."

"I understand. Your friend was eager that we meet." Sean explained.

"She's easily excited like that."

"Oh hush! I have good reason to wake you." Lila interjected. "Sean wants to know about **_him_**."

The young Breton's lethargy melted away and he grinned with delight. Andronicus rubbed his hands together and motioned for Lila and Sean to take a seat on the floor. The three gathered around a small pile of books like a campfire.

"I first learned of this tale while traveling through Daggerfall, performed by a group of _thespians – _artists who reenact scenes of history, tragedy and comedy for entertainment of the masses. _E'Hom Ripar d'Haut _it was called."

"_The Man from up on High._" Sean translated. "You want to tell me about _a play_?" He frowned.

"Please just listen." Lila begged.

"It may be a bard's tale Mister Finn, but many civilizations rely on the allure of legend and folklore to pass on their history. You convey history in a manner understood widely in our advanced society just the same. Why should their tales be so easily scorned?"

The young author rubbed his brow and motioned for Andronicus to continue.

"Our new Emperor has gone to great lengths to suppress the education of the common man, the cost measured in the thousands of lives lost at the end of an executioner's blade. The Office enforces strict laws and rules to keep certain historical accounts from making their way into the public eye, even denying that some things ever occurred at all. Testimonies have been ignored, evidence destroyed, historians, orators and scribes silenced. At the end of the Adamantine Rebellion our Empire stood united, powerful and strong. Imperial High Chancellor Balderic was not a foolish man. Born of honest parents, educated in universities and a Legion veteran of the Crisis, Sergius led our Empire through a decade of peace when suddenly…_war._ A disastrous military undertaking in Morrowind and a catalyst for the downfall of our Empire. What madness possessed him to pursue victory in the land of the Dunmer so passionately as to disregard the world crumbling at his feet around him? During the _Morrowind Civil War_ He fought on the side of righteousness protecting the Dunmer from Balderic's bloodthirsty ambitions and the Empire pursued Him to ruin's end. It is He whom they dare not speak of, who from the shadows has altered the course of history with a whisper. He who commands the power to rival an Empire."

A passing Enforcer stopped in place, eyeing the empty chairs where Sean and Lila had been seated moments earlier. The Enforcer scanned the surrounding area obviously interested in where the two had gone. Hidden safely behind their fortress of books, Lila continued hurriedly relaying the tale.

"He has gone by many names in his lifetime and he changes identities as easily as if he were removing articles of clothing. Those who claim seeing him cannot recall any description of the man, almost like a cloak of _dark magic _envelops his very soul in a shroud of obscurity. What cannot be hidden is the power he wields."

"Like the ability to destroy entire armies with a single blow of his _fiery_ sword?" Sean asked.

"You've heard this story before?"

"Yes. In Morrowind he is rumoured to be another reincarnation of the Nerevarine or perhaps the mortal embodiment of Lord Vivec. When I traveled to Skyrim years ago I heard stories of the _Na' Ysmir, _The New Dragon of the North who is said to have mastered the Way of the Voice and possess powers even greater than Tiber Septim_._ I've been told similar tales all across Tamriel, in Hammerfell, Sharnhelm, Daggerfall, Orsinium and the southern provinces."

"So what do you think? If so many other people have heard the story then it could be true! He could save us all!"

"Look, I understand these are difficult times but I would not hang a hope on this _fairy tale_. In all my years of research and travel, I have never found anything to confirm the existence of the Na'Ysmir, the Nerevarine, or _whatever you want to call him._ No matter how badly you want it to be true, there is no champion that will come to our rescue, no mythical _demigod _to bring retribution. The only _Hero_ we have has turned traitor, now a servant to our _glorious _Emperor. What salvation remains lies within the walls of Kvatch, born on the backs of _mortal _men and women – _true_ heroes who will sacrifice their lives to see this Empire returned to peace."

Andronicus and Lila bowed their heads in embarrassment. Sean stood and brushed the wrinkles out from his trousers. Andronicus and Lila were slow to rise.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time Mister Finn." Lila apologized. "I thought you were…we should return to our studies before anyone becomes suspicious."

The young author nodded. Sean was growing tired and had already overstayed his welcome.

"Excuse me _Mister Patrotus_!" Andronicus caught the author's attention just as he was about to exit the Hall.

"What is it?"

"I found this book in the library last spring. I… I want you to have it. I have faith in you _Mister Finn_, that you will help those who would free us from oppression._ It's okay if you have some faith too._"

Andronicus handed Sean a small maroon coloured book and quickly dashed back inside just as Professor Couche was waking up from his nap. The young author ran his fingers over the velvet exterior and thumbed through the parchment pages. The bindings were repaired and he could tell that portions of the text were rewritten, restored from apparent water damage. Inside the cover there was no author or publishing information, just two words written in plain black ink:

**The Reachman**


	6. Chapter 4

**4 **

It was several hours past sun's setting when Sean emerged from White Gold Tower. Tucked innocently in the outermost pocket of his knapsack was the worn out maroon book given to him by Andronicus. His overcoat provided little protection from the cold night air. Hurriedly he passed through the great wooden doors of the _Imperial_ _Arboretum_ on his way to the _Temple District_. The Arboretum remained untouched after decades of reconstruction projects meant to accommodate the swelling population in the City. Stone carvings of the Nine Divines set atop pedestals were graced with Morning Glory flowers and surrounded by bubbling fountains of spring water. Frequented mostly by noble families or strolling lovers, the City guard usually maintained a relatively low presence, however on this evening Sean could see no guardsmen or visitors at all. He was completely alone. Wall mounted torches that burned bright with orange flame were extinguished, some still smoldering black smoke. _Something's not right here. _

"Oy! _You there._"

Sean turned to see a middle-aged Breton emerging from the shadows to his left. He immediately noticed a bright red pin fastened to the lapel of his jacket – _a diamond with an upright sword in the middle_. Daggers were strapped to either side of his hip.

"You gotta light? I've just done and gone bought meself the finest tobacco in all Tamriel and I have nothing to light me pipe with."

"No." He answered. "It seems someone has put out all the flames."

"I wonder who could've done that?" The deep voice of a Nord called out from his right.

From near the Arboretum entrance, a large blonde haired Nord stepped forward into view. He was clutching a glowing-red shortsword in his hand. He pointed it at Sean. Slowly he eased his knapsack down by his feet and raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture.

"Please, just take what you want. I don't want any trouble."

"So quick to surrender? I was hoping we'd at least get a bit of fight outta ya."

"The _Enforcers _want to talk with you about that lil' stunt you pulled earlier today." The Nord smiled. "So we won't cut out your tongue…_yet._"

A swift kick to the author's back sent him flying into the arms of the Breton. The man punched Sean in the gut and smacked him across the face with the back of his hand, sending him hard to the ground. Blood poured from his nose into his mouth. Sean spit out the warm foul tasting liquid. The two men took turns stomping and punching Sean for what seemed like an eternity. Luckily the former Legionnaire always kept a knife on his belt and when the two stopped for a rest, Sean unsheathed his weapon. When the Nord went for a kick against his ribcage, Sean caught the Nord's leg and jammed his dagger deep into the man's hamstring. His opponent recoiled in pain clutching the knife still inside him. Before Sean could come to his feet, a blunt object struck him on the head knocking him flat to the stone floor.

"By _Ysmir_! You'll pay for that!"

The Breton thug turned his attention away from Sean to assess the wounds of his companion. Sean lay helpless, bleeding from the side of his head passing in and out of consciousness. He could barely make out the conversation between his two assailants.

"Let me at him Tacitus! That _sunava snow elf _stuck me! I want his fucking neck!"

"No! Don't you remember? We're only supposed to rough him up a bit. I already gone and beat him senseless just leave him be. Take his knapsack."

Sean twitched and slowly inched towards his pack lying a few feet away.

"Are you still in one piece? Un-bloody-believable!"

The Breton rushed over and stomped down on the author's hand. He could feel several small bones shatter. The pain shot up his forearm to the elbow.

"Now listen here. Just stay put and–"

Before the Breton could finish his warning he was interrupted by the tip of a blade quickly slicing across his jugular. Blood squirted out from the tear. The thug struggled to comprehend what had happened. A shadowy silhouette stabbed and withdrew a sword from the man's chest and performed a similar maneuver on the Nord. Sean breathed a sigh of relief when the bodies of his assailants collapsed to the ground. A veil of unnatural silence was lifted, replaced by the far-off sounds of laughter, clanging tankards and scuffled footsteps echoing within the City walls. A gentle hand grasped his upper arm and turned him over onto his back.

"Are you injured badly?" A feminine voice asked.

Sean nodded and extended his damaged hand. He could not see his rescuer's face. She held his mangled fingers in her palm. A short tingling sensation caressed his skin and in brilliant flash of light the pain in his fingers dissipated.

"It's not healed entirely so I'll need to splint it with a few small sticks. I know someone who has bandages we can use."

The silhouette stood and ignited one of the wall mounted torches by emanating fire from her palms. She was a Dunmer, her skin a pale sky blue, her hair long and silvery braided in a ponytail. Her face was covered with wrinkles and showed signs of old age. She was very uniquely dressed; knee high tan boots and bright green pants armoured with coverings made of an orange and yellow material he'd never seen before. Her dark brown leather cuirass complimented her slender figure, but it was her belt that caught his attention. Even with a throbbing head injury, Sean could see the buckle was emblazoned with the Dragon symbol used by the 3rd Era Legionnaires.

"Thank you." Was all Sean could think to say as he sat rubbing a welt forming on the side of his head.

"You have a few bruises and that's a decent sized _melon _on your head, but once we get your hand fixed up you'll be okay. Let's get moving before any more _Enforcer thugs_ come back."

A few moments passed in silence as the Dunmer helped Sean limp past two City guardsmen and enter the Talos Plaza District. The streets were quiet and the moon _Secunda _cast a white glow on the stone streets of the Imperial City.

"Did you know those men?" The elderly Dunmer asked.

"Should I know them? They were Enforcers."

"And who are you to have invoked the wrath of the Office?"

The young author turned and faced his rescuer.

"I apologize for not making proper introductions earlier. My name is Sean Finn. Thank you for saving my life." He bowed in respect.

The Dunmer smiled in amusement.

"A pleasure." She replied.

"So where are we going?"

"The _Tiber Septim Hotel_. We'll get you some bandages there."

"Then at the very least I must treat you to some drinks or perhaps an evening meal if you haven't already eaten."

"No dinner Mister Finn," She smiled. "but I'd be happy to put down a pint or two."

* * *

"So you're a writer?"

"_Investigative historian_." He corrected. "I've written a couple books, perhaps you've heard of them? _The Night of Tears _and _The Wrath of a Divine_."

"Nope."

Sean was surprised that there was actually a living soul in Cyrodiil who did _not _know who he was. The young author wasn't sure if he was offended or relieved.

"What do you do Sasha, when you're not _saving my life?_"

Sasha smiled and sipped her mead.

"I have my duties to attend to just the same as everyone." The answer was cryptic enticing Sean to inquire further.

"Are you in the City often or just passing through?"

"Passing through." Sasha replied. "I don't come to Cyrodiil much. And you?"

"I live in the Isles. I too am here on business doing some research for a friend."

"Interesting. The Imperial City isn't exactly the most conducive place for one in your profession. What were you looking for?"

Sean hesitated.

"Come now, you can clearly see I am no friend of the government. Will you not satisfy the curiosities of an elderly woman?" Sasha begged jokingly.

"_Fine._ I came here to see the Hero of Kvatch and do some in depth research on him."

"I see."

Sasha smiled and reached into her pack, removing a leather bound journal. She handed it to the young author.

"Page fifty-seven."

_6th of Hearthfire, 3E433_

_It's hard to believe the events of the past few days. I swear everything is happening so fast even I'm having trouble trying to make sense of it all. Just two weeks ago my arse was rotting in the Imperial Prison and now I'm sitting literally three feet away from the heir to the throne of Tamriel. Martin, what can I say about this kid? I don't think he knows how knee-deep in shit he's gotten himself into. Then again, I'm sure the same could be said for me. The only difference is I've had the chips stacked against me a good plenty of times and I've always made well off. If it weren't for Armand and his stupid, "I've got the biggest fuckin' job of your life" idea, I never would've even ended up in jail. _

_I don't know what to do now. A number of times I've had my chance to make a run for it, no one would've come looking for me. Why didn't I go? Am I starting to get a gods-damn conscience? Liable to get me dead and buried under a pile of rocks in no time. I almost was, dear gods what was I thinking?_

_Roe says what I did, what I was going to do, was brave. Honourable. If he only knew who he was talking to. He's an all right guy, he and his pals did save my arse and all those people in the church. I'm not afraid to give praise where praise is due. I just hope that Roe is the real deal because I got a feeling in my gut that things are gonna get even worse. At least this fire's warm. _

"Where did you get this from?" The young author interrogated.

"It's mine."

"These are the personal accounts of the Champion of Cyrodiil!"

"Indeed. Ulysses was…uncomfortable with this particular piece of literature being available to the public. He gave it to me to hang on to _after he passed_."

Sean's heart stopped. The Dunmer took a long draw from her tobacco pipe and slowly exhaled the smoke.

"He _**is**_ dead then?"

Sasha nodded.

"Then who did I just talk with this afternoon?"

Sasha shrugged her shoulders.

"How do you know all this? Were you his wife?"

"No."

"Lover?"

"No."

"You didn't _kill him_ did you?"

"Nope."

"Okay, okay fine! If Ulysses Dragonheart is _**really**_ dead, where is he buried?"

"Kvatch." Sasha answered nonchalantly.

Sean nearly jumped out of his chair. He was finally getting somewhere with the investigation, but still didn't know anything about this Dunmer. As Sasha returned to her drink and pipe, Sean read and reread over the pages of the journal, his focus inexplicably drawn to a recurring name he never had seen before.

"Sasha, _who is Roe_?"


End file.
